


you will never give up easy

by youcouldmakealife



Series: in taking it apart [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 22:36:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No,” Mike says.</p>
<p>Liam, predictably, doesn’t listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you will never give up easy

**Author's Note:**

> As always, my tumblr is over [here](http://www.tumblr.com/blog/youcouldmakealife)!
> 
> Thanks to Clo, who is providing chocolate along with the tea! And tolerating me in a writing jag. I go to Ireland and then just sit in another bedroom and write more fic. That's skill.

Mike’s given up saying it won’t happen again: it makes him a fucking liar every time. But he does have one rule that he stands firm on: this shit doesn’t happen on the road. He doesn’t think that’s something he even needs to explain. They’re surrounded by nosy teammates, Liam has a roommate, Rogers has been eyeing Liam suspiciously since the first night he never came home, and since then Liam’s been making a habit of camping out on Mike’s bed and refusing to leave, curling his body around Mike’s and using him as a belligerent pillow. 

‘Not on the road’ really, really shouldn’t be something he needs to explain. But for some reason it is, and it remains such every time Liam’s pouting at him when Mike goes out for drinks that Liam’s too young to join in for, when Mike hipchecks Liam out of his way when he’s going to his room and Liam’s hovering like Mike is actually going to let him through that door, knowing the likelihood that the second it shuts he’s going to have the brat fucking all over him. Liam seems surprised, maybe because Mike’s been folding like a sucker the second Liam bats his lashes or starts stripping, but this isn’t a game to Mike, he’s too old and tired, too paranoid, to find it fun, sneaking around, playing with his fucking life like that. Liam may find the whole idea of it hot, seems to get off on it, but Mike’s managed to go years and years without a soul in the NHL knowing his dick is indiscriminate, and he doesn’t plan on having that ever change. 

Mike almost regrets his own rule when they go on a weeklong roadtrip and Liam spends the whole time pouting at him, leaning in too close when they’re on the plane, following him everywhere like a shadow, sulking every time Mike brushes him off. By the end of the trip, Mike isn’t sure whether he’d rather strangle the kid or fuck him into the floor, but either way he’s in a bad mood when they get back from Vancouver with a loss and Liam practically vibrating beside him on the plane, probably preparing to lurk in the bed of Mike’s truck so that he’ll accidentally take Liam home with him.

In the end he’s giving Liam too much credit in assuming he’d actually put in the effort of hiding, and Liam’s just waiting against the cab of his truck, leaning sort of precariously, hips jutted out. He looks like a jailbait hustler. 

“Fuck off,” Mike grunts, and when Liam glares at him, “go home to Rogers and Lady Rogers, let them have a nice family dinner with you, and then come over. Fair?”

“Fair,” Liam mutters, and then, “but he already left, can you take me?”

Mike stares him down, and then, when Liam barely flinches, points back where he came from, having passed Rogers and Jacobi on the way. “Go, brat,” he says, and at least Liam does. Maybe that’s progress.

Liam does, presumably, have a nice family dinner with Rogers and his fiance, and then shows up at Mike’s doorstep after dark, shivering. Mike is going to buy him a goddamn coat himself if that’s what it’s going to take.

“Get your ass inside before you get frostbite,” Mike says, and Liam follows him in, before shoving Mike up against the wall (Mike lets him, it’s nice to let others think they could actually move him anywhere he wasn’t interested in going, makes them feel good about themselves), getting on his toes to press his mouth against Mike’s. His lips are cold, hands even colder against Mike’s bare arms, but he warms up fast, and he’s hot, burning up, when he’s got his hands braced against Mike’s wall for balance, slowly sinking down onto Mike’s cock, his thighs shaking from the effort of restraining himself, hair falling into his eyes. Mike steadies him with his hands around his hips, watches Liam fucking himself on his cock, taking his pleasure, brilliantly, beautifully, horribly selfish, chasing whatever makes him feel best. 

*

Mike should have known, annoying as Liam was on that roadtrip, that was good behavior from him. In fact, Mike is starting to realize, to his absolute horror, that Liam actually thinks he was _behaving_ at the beginning, and is only letting his true brattiness show as time goes on.

Witness their trip to Calgary, a home and away, hardly even enough to merit the word trip at all. They stay overnight because--well, Mike doesn’t even know, something about team bonding, something about being rested against the Flames, something about management being sadists, because god knows they’d all prefer their own beds, but the point is that they stay over the night before a matinee game, and Liam uses his dubious charms or his even more dubious wiles to scam Mike’s keycard out of someone, and pop into his room, stupid, mischevious look on his face, while Mike’s winding down with CBC’s Hockey Night in Canada, for a measure of winding down that includes yelling at Vancouver. Fuckers.

But Liam appears like a specter of Mike’s pain fucking personified, and Mike has to yank his attention from where Vancouver’s managed to get the puck into the back of Winnipeg’s net _yet again_ , to where Liam’s looking proud of himself.

“No,” Mike says.

Liam, predictably, doesn’t listen.

“Morris is being loud,” Liam says, like noise has ever bothered him before. He flings himself beside Mike on his bed.

“Not kidding, Fitzgerald,” Mike says. “Get out.”

“Just for a little bit?” Liam wheedles.

“No,” Mike says flatly, getting out of bed. 

Liam looks up at him pleadingly.

“I’m going for a drink at the bar so I can watch this game in fucking peace,” Mike says. “If you’re still here when I get back, I swear to god, Fitzgerald. I have one goddamn rule.”

Liam sits up, opening his mouth, but Mike doesn’t have the patience for this, just shoves his shoes on, makes sure he has his wallet and his keycard, and goes down for a beer and the second half of the third. When he gets back there’s no sign that Liam was there at all, and he prefers it that way.

They lose to the Flames, and everyone’s in a foul fucking mood on the way home, a sullen silence settling over all of them. Mike’s no exception, and Liam is smart enough not to push him, goes and sits with Morris, the two of them sharing a set of earbuds, heads knocking, knees knocking, a two headed rookie monster.

Mike goes to the gym when he gets home, works out some of the energy he still has, the energy he didn’t work out on Sidorchuk’s face, and he’s sore and spent, a little calmer, after grilled chicken and salad, a beer, a long, stingingly hot shower.

Of course, it’s all shattered when his doorbell goes, his whole body going tense again, tight, and he goes to the door, lets it swing open, the cold air raising goosebumps on his wet skin. Liam looks tired, as small as he is, instead of as small as he pretends to be.

“Sorry,” Liam says, then stops, like he didn’t think of anything to say past that point, figured that would work like a password into Mike’s place.

It doesn’t. At least Mike has that dignity left.

He’s as tired as Liam looks, the season getting to all of them, losing getting to all of them, running after a rogue, impossible rookie starting to wear Mike down. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Fitzgerald,” Mike says flatly, and Liam wilts so visibly that Mike almost feels sorry for him.

That night he goes to bed by himself, can stretch out on the mattress, and Rogers seems to be pleased as punch that his rookie actually stuck around for the night, so everyone wins. Liam follows him after practice, looking sort of chastened, so Mike lets him climb up into the cab beside him. 

Mike’s pretty sure Rogers thinks Liam is using hanging out with Mike as a painfully bad excuse to hide a secret girlfriend or something, which is the only reason Mike’s been letting him come around as often as he has, to stay over as much, flinging his limbs all over Mike’s bed, all over Mike’s body, like any place Liam lays his head is suddenly his.

Mike makes them a late lunch, some of the chicken breasts from the day before shredded into a spring salad, while Liam watches him do it, sipping a beer, sitting at the table like a grown-up, for once, instead of his usual behavior: hopping on Mike’s counter and swinging his legs until Mike smacks him with the nearest kitchen utensil.

“Sorry,” Liam says, when they’re almost done eating, and he sounds sincere this time. Mike doubts he knows what he’s apologizing for, really, so self-centeredly young that he couldn’t imagine that anything that gives him pleasure could possibly be a problem. It doesn’t matter. No amount of Mike attempting to explain it is going to get through his thick skull. 

Mike makes him wash the dishes as penance, and Liam doesn’t complain when Mike turns on golf, just makes a face and suffers in silence for awhile, while Mike can barely contain his amusement at the way Liam’s eyes glaze over.

He manages almost a whole hour before he starts shooting Mike unsubtle, obvious looks, ones Mike pretends to be oblivious to until he thinks that Liam might actually explode from the frustration. Then he lets Liam drag him back to his bedroom, gets the kid spread out under him, practically shaking with impatience, his hands in Mike’s hair and his cock pressed against Mike’s belly.

When he’s breathing fast and uneven, trying to rub himself off against Mike’s stomach, Mike holds him down by the hips, ignores Liam’s frustrated groan when he bypasses his cock completely, the unsteady hitch of his breathing when Mike gets his tongue on him. Mike eats him out until he’s begging for Mike to fuck him, and then, maybe because he’s still a little fucking pissed, he keeps going, until Liam’s fucking his ass back onto Mike’s face, hands fisted in Mike’s hair so he can move him where he wants him. Mike may actually be strangled by Liam’s thighs, tightening around his head every time Mike does something right, but he’s okay with dying like that, with Liam’s breath hitching into sobs while Mike tongues him in short, brutal stabs. He ends up on such a hair trigger that all Mike needs is to get a hand on him, his head turned to suck a kiss into Liam’s thigh, and Liam’s coming, easy.

Mike gives him a minute, and Liam’s drowsy and loose when Mike slicks his fingers up and opens him up, the kid making these hiccuping sobs at first, oversensitive but happy to take it, until he’s nudging back against Mike’s fingers, slowly getting hard again, because he’s a fucking teenager, Mike really needs to remember he’s a fucking teenager, he is _fucking a teenager_. He’s completely hard by the time Mike shoves into him, urging Mike on while he’s spattered with his own come, thighs flush with beard burn, begging like a whore. He’s a fucking picture, like that, and Mike isn’t gentle with him at all, just takes what he wants, how he wants it, Liam goading him for harder, faster, _please_ , the whole way through.

*

It starts to descend into a routine, if Mike could describe it that way. Mike practices, Mike plays, Mike hits and takes hits and Mike takes Liam apart on his sheets, presses his mouth against the sounds he makes, lets Liam rearrange him to his preference, like Mike’s the grumpiest teddy bear a boy could ever need. Liam keeps jumping him, like the oversexed, obnoxious little brat he is, but now he’ll also fidget his way through a TV show, a movie, only stilling after Mike physically restrains him, sits on Mike’s counters and backseat cooks, though if he knows how to make anything other than Kraft Dinner Mike would be impressed and amazed. When they’re home he drinks all of Mike’s beer because he’s too cheap to buy his own, uses Mike as a test subject until he’s mostly eradicated his gag reflex, which is an experiment Mike is glad to participate in. 

Liam does actually leave Mike alone on road trips, for a loose definition of alone. He quits attempting to clumsily seduce him, or sneak into his room like a sex-crazed stalker, but he still sits with him at breakfast, hair in his half-closed eyes, the same exact kid who once fell asleep in Mike’s shower, a fact Mike was alerted to by a thud and a yelp. The kid who moans over Mike’s eggs like they’re special, and not just scrambled. He falls asleep on Mike’s shoulder on the plane, looking so young, innocent, his eyelashes brushing his cheeks. Mike repeatedly has to save him from getting shit written all over his face, though he shouldn’t, because Liam deserves it, what is he thinking, sleeping around all these assholes. Mike is definitely included in that number, the kid is ruining his asshole reputation.

Mike realizes, with dawning horror, that the kid has him wrapped around his finger, and has for awhile. Liam thinks he’s being clever about it, a kid trying on seductive, but Mike can see through every game he plays, every front he puts on. He won’t admit it, though, because the truth--that Mike wants him enough that it doesn’t matter how smooth or not he is--is too fucking embarrassing to bear.

Liam’s eighteen, and Mike remembers eighteen, how intense everything was and how quickly that intensity faded, and he knows that Liam’s going to get his fill, going to jump into the next adventure with equal enthusiasm, sans gag reflex, and that’s okay, he’s okay with that, he understands it, but with Liam asleep on his shoulder on the way back from Pittsburgh, mouth slightly ajar, bottom lip pink and plush and always too inviting, Mike realizes, for the first time, that when he trots off for his next adventure, Mike will regret his leaving.


End file.
